


The Cabbage Patch Dwobbit Story

by DuCali



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Acorn Feels, Acorn!dwobbits, BAMF Hobbits, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Cabbage Patch Hobbits, Dwobbits, Fix-It, M/M, No Sex, Non-con Baby making, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuCali/pseuds/DuCali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with an Acorn</p><p>In which Hobbits are grown in the ground rather than in bellies, Seed is not a euphemism, and Bilbo is horrified when he finds out where everyone else’s babies come from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cabbage Patch Dwobbit Story

In which Hobbits are grown in the ground rather than in bellies, Seed is not a euphemism, and Bilbo is horrified when he finds out where everyone else’s babies come from. Rated for dub-con baby-growing (and cursing). Bilbo/Thorin. Durin Fix-it, Dwobbits.

A/N: I’m trying to make this a one-shot. Every time I try to make it short, my fic tries to make itself long- So I’m trying it’ll probably end up as a long one-shot. Also yes, you read that right. Dub-con Baby growing can be a thing.

 

It started with an Acorn.

In the depths of gold-madness, Thorin Oakenshield touched an acorn that had been carried next to the nurturing heart of a hobbit for weeks.

It was an acorn that had been born in a bright and plentiful place touched by the light of Yavanna. It had endured the long and decaying darkness of the Mirkwood dungeons (of Mandos), only to be drenched in torrential waters, all the time carried safely at the bosom of Bilbo Baggins. 

And in the months that he carried it after, from the sorrowful tears he watered it with as spring broke over the Shire, to the frosted ground unto which that acorn was planted; none expected it to grow.

For every hobbit that knew what’s-what knew that you could not grow a garden without love; without life.

“Not to mention”, said Margaree Bolger- “Imagine if it grew! Why an Oak tree drops acorns like they were leaves, what would he do with them all?” 

And many heads would nod at that.

For a tree that bore fruit did so yearly- and it was not for no reason that most chose the fruit of lower and less lasting shrubs.

**line Break**

Bilbo was a mess after the ‘Battle’. He’d barely noticed when they’d torn him from Thorin’s cooling body, lost in the horror of his death. He’d woken briefly only as they tried to cart Thorin away, along with Fili and Kili to be buried. Oin had shoved a tonic down his throat and he’d faded fast, and slept eight days through; only waking as the horse and cart passed out of Mirkwood.

Gandalf had showed appropriate contrition, but Bilbo’s banishment had never been revoked. He’d gotten Bilbo out with the help of the company as soon as he could- for Dain of the Iron Hills held the throne of Erebor until-

“…until that whole mess can be cleared up about succession, though I find it’s best to leave the other races to their petty squabbling in these matters.”

So Thorin was dead, and who knew if Bilbo would ever be welcomed in Erebor again- for lending to the madness that had taken it’s king. Bilbo could hardly blame them, though it would have been nice if he’d been able to say goodbye at the very least. He could hardly write his friends if they might be in trouble for cavorting with him!

So He travelled, and he pondered, and in his coat pocket lay two treasures- one Gold ring- vile thing gold- that had kept him alive, but not the dwarrow he loved- and an Acorn which he had thought (with the way Thorin had touched it so reverently- he must have known!) might be the fruit-bearer of their future together. 

Thorin had told Bilbo to carry it back to the shire and plant it- and though it was so scandalous and almost indecent to do so (by Yavanna, all his children would be bastards, and Halflings, and an Oak tree! Of all choice of Bearers! He thought) he would do so- and hope beyond hope that it would grow. It was rare, after all, for a child to be born after a spouse dies. 

So he planted it (and it grew).

And he sang to it (and nurtured it).

And he watered it (through the heat).

And he sheltered it (from the snow).

And when Spring came again, the tree stood 6 feet high (and almost rail thin), and in the lowest branch were two Acorns. 

They were small at first, like any other acorn, but grew quickly. Soon they were almost each as big as his head!

They weighed the poor young tree down, so Bilbo built a cradle to catch them in when they were ready so the branch would not break.

“Stubborn” he would mutter. “Impatient!” he would yell. For he worried, and he fretted, and he stress baked until he had a very respectable hobbit belly again. 

“So soon!” his neighbors wondered behind his back. “The first year!” they exclaimed. And no longer did the Sackville-Baggins try to steal his spoons. For he would need them, surely- when next year came again; for a tree that was so eager to bear fruit would leave many grasping hands requiring spoons. 

And then they were ready, and the tree swayed back into rightness as the acorns detached- and suddenly Bilbo was a father. The shells CrACkEd* down the center of each at precisely the same time- two boys lay inside, one with dark hair, the other light. 

“Frodo” he named the dark one; “Frerin” the other- and he pulled the acorn top from Frerin’s head and took them inside. 

He threw a big party with lots of food and all of Hobbiton showed up to gaze upon the Oak-tree brothers. They were beautiful, said all the Hobbits, and “I’m going to be out of a Job,” said Gaffer Gamgee- and Everyone nodded along. For it was as true a statement as any Hobbit had ever heard- for no matter how much gold Bilbo could have brought back with him, it would never be enough for all the mouths he’d have to keep. 

**Line Break**

Thorin woke to healing darkness, deep in the halls of his fathers. He was stiff, but whole- trading 8 months sleeping in the stone for the remaining years of his life to be lived. 

It was an honor granted only to royalty and great warriors. 

Kili slept on to his left and he rose to a siting position; the room was otherwise empty. Thorin ached with ignorance of his other sister-son’s state, though his curiosity was soon satiated when Fili slipped through the door. 

He was regal, in the crown of a Prince heir, with pearls roped around his neck and sapphires set in silver filigree along his court robes done in Durin Blue. And Thorin was awed by a sight he had never thought to see.

“Filli” he called, and Filli was there in-between heartbeats.

“Uncle! You’re awake. Finally!”. And he took Thorin’s hand.

“What has happened?”

And Filli told him; how Dis had taken the throne in the interim, and that the caravans had come- how long it had bean, how they had won.

“and the Halfling?” Thorin asked, his face like stone-

“Gone Uncle” replied Filli in a dead and hurt voice, wishing that things were different and Thorin would forgive- but he knew better than to mention Bilbo again with Thorin’s face looking like a dark cloud as it did now.

-and Thorin’s heart broke at the knowledge that Bilbo was dead, and he could never make amends.

(and he lived in 3 years ignorance as he mourned- the dumbass)

**Line Break**

Bilbo was done. 

He was going to walk away into the sunset with a pack on his back, and head to Rivendell- See if he Wouldn’t!

Toddling little feet stopped at his side, and a precious hand curled into his pant leg spreading sticky Blackberry jam all over the fabric.

“Dada.” Said Child #5, the last born of the second year; named Carly – who had brown curly hair, and Durin Blue eyes- Thorin’s second daughter.“Dada- up?”

and Bilbo deflated and forgot quite what he’d been thinking about – for how could he leave? What nonsense filled his head!

4 years (almost)! And 9 Children! For each year Thorin’s Oak bore one more fruit than the year before- and thusly 5 acorns burdened the tree this year. They were small yet, but he’d have to cradle them soon; the tree had grown stronger and larger in 4 years, but 5 was quite a lot. 

And that one- on the topmost branch was so difficult- he was going to name it Lobelia, for sure.

Dear Yavanna- he was going to be a father of 14 children in a few months. 

Thorin would have been ecstatic.

He’d thought about cutting the thing down before now of course- he worried how he would manage in the coming years, though his neighbors had been great help. 

But 9 was quite a number to keep up with, and he’d almost seem to double it- though it was in fact only an extra half over again the number he had now- but the year after, when there was 6? (though that was a guess) and he had 20 in all?

He was running out of names. The first girl was named BellaMira in the way of his mother and aunts, and another girl in the third batch was Mirin which he wasn’t quite sure of himself, only he’d sort of repeated BellaMira’s name because she’d fallen, and the scribe had taken it down, and it was all that he could do to change it so that the name was her own. She was young enough still that everyone called her ‘Myr’. And don’t get him started on Durin! The cheeky brat- had come out the shell with her own name on her lips!

Girls were so hard!

So yes, he’d thought of chopping it down. Only nobody would forgive him- Hobbits were very pro-life. Children were a gift from Yavanna. That his tree had been so fruitful with only one living parent was a blessing that he could not repeal. He might not have forgiven himself. 

Yet he found- he found that after a long day, one tends to daydream about such things. 

Like people knocking at the door- dwarves knocking, like they did on that night (what is only 5 years ago?)

Except that was actual knocking! Oh dear.

**line break**

Dwalin was irritated. That they had gone so long in ignorance because Thorin was such a royal prat. Everyone had gone 3 and more years avoiding talking of Bilbo for his poor constitution, fearing he’d fade to nothing. 

Only he’d been fading because Bilbo was his One, and he hadn’t told anyone. He’d thought Bilbo was dead. Because Filli had lacked the communication to tell him otherwise. And him the future king. 

Dwalin took a moment to lament the passing of a glorious age due to failing genetics.

So he’d been sent on this ridiculous journey over half of Arda to fetch the burglar. He’d had to ride with tree-shaggers at least half the way here besides! Only on their way to Rivendell Dwalin’s hairy arse they were, he thought- perhaps uncharitably. 

And now he was ignored! 

He knocked again, and the door opened to reveal Bilbo. 

The burglar was a mess. He had flour on his shirt, and his hair was half sticking up on one side- and was that jam on his pants? His suspenders were dropping off of one shoulder slightly, and the hobbit gave the air of someone supremely tired as he blinked up at Dwalin with slowly widening eyes. 

And he was holding a child. A child that had his hair, by the maker. That would make things awkward.

“I’ve come to return you to Erebor; by order of the King.”

“But I can’t!” the idiot wailed, the child tearing up and starting to bawl-

“Thorin’s tree is here!” which made no kind of sense at all. 

Until he saw it- amazing. That in 4 years Thorin was the father of 14, without ever knowing (or participating- which was weird as all orc-shit, but Thorin had daughters).

So they waited. For the last 5 to be –born? -Harvested?

And Dwalin met a little girl that didn’t look like a Dwobbit at all, but like a little female Thorin, right down to the beard that introduced herself in Khuzdul- “Durin Lugnul” said the undying king, “Daughter of Thorin, son of Thrain”. By Mahal.

(“How? How do they know Khuzdul?” “What do you mean?” “Halfling! What do you think?!” ‘They were born with it of course! Isn’t everyone?”)

(“Oh Gross- they keep the seed in their stomachs?” “You’ve a kinky mind Halfling- but yeah, more or less.” “Well it sounds disgusting and horrible- I can hardly imagine.”)

 

And when the last of the 5 were out of the shell (3 more girls! By Mahal!) and named, the leaves started to fall, all at once. The Halfling had run to the tree in a panic, only for an acorn to hit him over the head (it knocked him out- Dwalin left him there after making sure he was breathing to play with his new cousins). 

And finally the hal- Bilbo said they could leave; through some whatsit thing with a lady, he knew it was okay. Dwalin didn’t really care. Thorin’s face was going to be priceless. 

And it was. 

And when an Oak tree sprouted in the Royal gardens, Dwalin bet a whole kilo of gold that they were going to have a girl the first year.

(it was a boy).

 

A/N: yes. Durin reborn is a girl dwobbit. Live with it. It surprised me too. Lugnul is Khuzdul for ‘The Deathless/God-like’.see Dwarrow Scholar.  
There. I one-shot fic’d. Feel proud of me. It wanted to be chaptered so bad. But I didn’t let it! I owned this plot-bunny! And I managed 3rd person singular! And Dwalin’s POV! Woot.


End file.
